


Five Minutes Later

by Visinata



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Cannon compliant, Gen, Simon and Penny's flat, Simon talks about losing his magic, Trying to tie up loose ends, flashback to the night Baz tried to kill himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visinata/pseuds/Visinata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five minutes after Carry On ends, Simon starts to really feel bad about doing all the work of moving in by himself. We learn why Penny didn't help (or did she?), why Baz is just sitting there on the sofa doing nothing, and how Simon really feels about losing his magic. Baz also spends some time thinking about that fateful night in the woods.</p><p>(The two times the characters recall words from their past, the words are Rainbow Rowell's)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Minutes Later

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place five minutes after Carry On ends. Even though Simon gets his happy ending in the book, I felt unsettled by the ending, sad for him and uncomfortable about how Penny and Baz were behaving towards him. This is my attempt to answer some questions I had and fill in the blanks to make Simon (and me) feel better about how things are going as he moves into his flat with Penny.

To be fair, I didn't help Baz with his things when he moved in with his aunt Fiona, or when he moved out of our room at Watford. I had been there, at Watford, move-out was the day after the leavers ball and, well, Penny and I had made plans for how to get me into Watford for the ball, but neither of us had brought up getting me home again afterwards. I wasn't really planning to stay, but I wasn't planning not to either. Anyway, the next morning Baz had magicked his things into boxes and then magicked them down the stairs, and that was that. And everyone had thought it best that I stay away from Fiona when Baz arrived in London.

Back in January, no one had helped me gather the few things I wanted to bring with me from Watford when Penny and I left. Penny had over seven years worth of collected books and who-knows-what-else to take care of in her own room, and Baz was still in Hampshire with his family. I didn't think twice about it at the time, but it's coming back to me now as I stand in the kitchen trying hard to look like the only thing on my mind is making tea. 

Honestly, it's not the physical work I mind, it's the principle of the thing. Back when I was full of magic, a lot of people looked up to to me. They expected me to be there for them and give my all to help when I was needed, and I did, every time. But now no one looks up to me, and right now, when I could use some help, the two people who have sworn to stick by me through thick and thin (Even though I want to, I'm still not 100% ready to trust Baz on that one. I trust Penny, though.) are relaxing side by side on the couch, ignoring me. Wankers.

This flat has an open plan, which I like. A long counter separates the kitchen from the living room, and I must be glaring over it because Penny turns and says "Simon, there aren't even all that many boxes." She's cut me off before I've even opened my mouth.

"Right, and only two of them belong to me," I reply, "so I don't see why I'm the one doing all the work."

She huffs and goes back to staring at the ceiling.

When I moved in with Penny's family at the end of December, which the Coven agreed to for my house arrest, I'd only had one box of belongings from Watford to take with me. One box of accumulated possessions in seven and a half years, that's how you live when you think you won't be around for long. Getting used to planning for my future is something I'm not very good at yet. I've only recently begun to come to terms with the fact that I'm going to have one.

Luckily, Penny's taken me shopping for some clothes since December, just like I was hoping. (That's why I have two boxes now.) Baz even got in on the action, which threw me at first, I'd just assumed that his stepmother bought his clothing for him, but it turns out he's got a great eye for style. I don't know why I was surprised, I've been jealous of his looks since almost day one.

"I just think it would be nice if someone helped me for a change. These are your things I'm moving, Penny, and you haven't lifted a finger! Is this what living with you is going to be like?" I don't have my magic anymore, but the feeling of something uncontrollable and dangerous rising in my chest is disturbingly familiar.

"Get ahold of yourself, Simon, and don't raise your voice with me."

"I'm not raising my voice!" _I am_. I try to do what Penny says and get ahold of myself, push the bad feeling down and away.

"And Simon," Penny continues, "just because I packed all of the boxes, including your two, I might add, it doesn't mean that it's all my stuff. We're living here together, remember? Lots of these things aren't mine or yours, they're things for our flat. They're _ours_.

Ours. That stops me in my tracks. I've had things that were shared before, communal, like the naff towels and furniture at every children's home I've ever lived in, and nicer versions of the same things at Watford. But something that I actually share ownership of, with someone I like? It’s never occurred to me before. I guess this kettle I'm using, and maybe the dishes, must be partly Penny's, partly mine. If they're partly mine though, why didn't I have any say in them. Where did they even come from?

"And don't get stroppy about not helping to pick them out. You told me you'd rather go to the country with Baz when I asked if you wanted to come along."

Oh. I do remember that conversation, vaguely. I didn't really understand what she was asking at the time, but I like what she's chosen. For us.

Us. Penny and me being an "us" outside of school, outside of fighting monsters and trying to save the magical world, is wonderful, and hard to get used to. And if that’s hard, feeling run of the mill about Baz and me being an “us" is, so far, impossible. It's been seven months and I still get a little catch in my throat and feel myself smiling involuntarily every time I think about it, or say "we" and mean the two of us. Baz was the first one who did it, who said “we” and meant him and me, back when Penny had just joined us in the hunt for his mother's killer. "We're telling you now,” he had said. Penny had noticed right away and almost exploded. I'd noticed, but tried not to think about it. Assuming that everything that came out of Baz's mouth back then was in some way connected to a plot against me was a lot easier than thinking about what he was really saying, and what I was really feeling about it. (I guess he really was out to get me all those years, just not in the way I thought)

But back to the current situation, I do remember Penny packing, but she used magic to organize all of these things into their boxes, and now here I am with no magic, doing the heavy lifting on my own. It still doesn't feel completely fair to me, or very nice of them. Baz’s crack about me needing Normal occupational therapy also rubbed me the wrong way. If anyone needs to learn more about living like a Normal, it’s those two. 

Moving into the first place that has ever really been mine is a big deal to me. And I don't want to do it alone. Actually, I think, looking at my two best friends on the couch, I'm not really alone at all, am I? And both of them look tired. Especially Baz. He's hiding it well, as usual, but I've certainly spent enough time watching him over the years to recognize the signs.

I try to calm myself down by thinking of Baz, how lucky I am to have him in my life, how leaving Watford must have felt, what having having me for a boyfriend is actually like for him.

I don't know exactly what Baz had been hoping for out of our relationship, but I have a feeling that it hasn't quite lived up to all of his expectations. Yet. I'm surprisingly unworried about that, though. Living without a sense of impending doom is remarkably freeing. It’s taken some work with my therapist and some hard thinking on my part to get to this point, but I’m starting to be able to live like I have time ahead of me. I’m learning to move more slowly. I feel less like I need to rush into everything because, I think, maybe now I really do have the time. Whatever Baz wants from our relationship, I think it’s what I want too, and I also think we have plenty of time to get there.

As for Watford, I know it was hard for him to go back, after what happened in December, but I know it was probably even harder for him to leave at the end of the year. He’s told me he always felt more at home in our room there than in his Gothic bedchamber (Victorian, whatever) in Hampshire, and I know that being near his mother’s grave and the rooms he lived in with her when he was little was important to him. 

Even so, he’s definitely happier these days than I’ve ever seen him. He smiles now, which he didn’t used to do. The smirks and curled lips he used aim my way weren’t happy, they were tortured. He says he’s starting to feel at home in Fiona’s flat, but, well, there have been a lot of changes for all of us lately, and dealing with all of his own baggage, on top of being there for me can’t be easy, or relaxing. Maybe this pause, sitting on the couch with Penny, drinking his godawful drink, isn't just Baz being a complete git, maybe it's a well-earned moment of rest.

 

BAZ 

I'm being a complete git. What kind of person doesn't lift a finger to help his boyfriend (I can’t believe I get to say that, about Snow) move into his new flat? But I have a strong suspicion about Bunce, and if she hasn't said anything, I'm not going to ruin her secret. Honestly, I'm enjoying the rest. Today's been busy, and the last few weeks have been stressful. Adjusting to living in a Normal world is demanding a great deal of my concentration. I'm accustomed to hiding many of the important things about myself, my feelings, my vampirism, but not my magic, that has always been liberating. I thought exchanging hiding my feelings towards Simon for hiding my magic would be a good trade, and it is, an excellent one. But it's proving to be more challenging than I anticipated. I'm so accustomed to hiding my feelings that it's actually been somewhat difficult to stop, and I'm used to using magic the same way I breathe...unconsciously, which means turning that off has been a constant challenge. So really, sitting here not using any of my magic, blatantly ogling my boyfriend, is occupational therapy for _me_. 

And really, who can blame me for being unwilling to miss the sight of him lugging boxes around the flat, making it look effortless by the way. I can see his muscles straining under the surface of the unnecessarily thin t-shirt I helped him pick out. It’s really too good to pass up.

I asked him last term what he planned to wear now that Watford uniforms were off limits to him. His main plan, he said, had been dying by my hand in a fiery conflagration before he ever had to think about his post-Watford wardrobe (which sounded remarkably similar to my plan A). Plan B for Simon was to let Bunce take him shopping, so I took it upon myself to help out, and I'm not above picking some items that show off how incredibly fit he is more than might be strictly necessary.  

"Well, that is certainly an...interesting selection." Was all Bunce said when Simon showed her what I'd helped him choose. She was onto me, but she had the decency to keep her mouth shut. I'm enjoying Bunce's company just as much now as I did back at Watford during the truce.

 

SIMON

I go back to trying to concentrate on making tea, and then hunting for the biscuits in one of the boxes, with no help. I'm looking though a box that I’d dropped just outside the front door, when I see Penny wave her ring hand in the direction of the stuffed chair and mutter something that sounds like, " **As you were** ," Did she have that chair enchanted? I try to tell myself I'm imagining things, but then she does it again, this time in the direction of the coffee table. I burst in through the door.

"What are you doing?"

Penny jumps but doesn't answer my question.

"Simon, please stop yelling. Really. Did you find those biscuits?"

I am so mad at her right now. I am seething. I walk over to the corner of the coffee table and hoist it off the ground. It's heavier than it was when I carried it up the stairs.

"Did you **light as a feather** those when I wasn't looking? Why would you do that?"

Penny looks guilty and Baz doesn't look as guilty as she does, but I can see from his eyes that he isn't exactly surprised that Penny had the heavier furniture spelled to weigh less. I guess I can't complain about moving us in with no help anymore, since clearly I did have help, secret help. Secret help from someone who usually prides herself on being forthright. I feel my stomach knot up uncomfortably.

“Well, I wanted to help you,” she starts.

“Then why didn’t you just help me?” I’m trying hard to do what she says and keep my feelings under control, not to yell. 

“I couldn’t help with the actual carrying right then. I had other, urgent things that needed to be attended to. I…”

"You were on the phone with Micah!" I interrupt. She has the decency to blush.

"He only had this specific window to talk to me! There's a time difference, you know, and he's leaving on a surveying trip with his father tomorrow morning!”

I think she should have just told me she needed to make a phone call and then we could have planned how to get the boxes up the stairs together, but that's not really what's bothering me. It’s the hidden magic, the dishonesty, the feeling that nobody cares enough to actually help me.

“Ok, Penny. Ok. I know you needed to talk to Micah. I just wish you'd told me you were going to enchant the furniture. I would have asked you to do the boxes too.” 

Suddenly I'm almost in tears, it feels a little like my old rogue magic is back. My body is becoming hot all over, against my will, my brain is trying to disengage. I choke the tears back, I don't need this right now. I'm just trying to move into my new flat, with my best friend, and my _boyfriend_ has come by to spend time with me. These are all good things. I take some deep breaths and work on regaining my composure for the third time in 20 minutes.

 

BAZ

Maybe Bunce and I have pushed it too far. Simon is resilient, but he needs a great deal of support right now. Sometimes it's difficult to know when to support him by doing things for him and when to support him by leaving him alone.

His face is red and I think he might cry.

"Simon," I say, standing up and transferring my Starbucks cup to my left hand so my right is free to slide around his waist, "maybe we..."

"Don't Baz." He says, as he leans into me. "I mean, do...this-yes, but..I mean...just-stop talking. Please. Let _me_ talk." He moves his arm around my waist too and here we are, instead of having tea, or in my case coffee, we're here clinging to each other in broad daylight, in the middle of the lounge, making Bunce fidget with concern and uncertainty about whether she belongs in the room with us or not. She decides she does, and I'm glad, because I'm not looking forward to a private scene, and I think that whatever's coming, it's probably something all three of us are going to have to work out.

"Baz," Simon starts again, "do you remember the night in the forest, after we talked to Nicodemus?" Maybe this is going to be a private scene after all.

"Seriously? You're asking me if I remember the night I tried to kill myself? The night the love of my life finally showed me he has feelings for me?"

Bunce is all ears. Is it possible Simon hasn't told her all about this yet?

"Well, remember, in the woods, before I kissed you, how I started crying? This is like that. I'm upset, but that’s not everything. It's almost like when my magic used to fill me up and my brain had to turn off because it was too much to handle. That's how I felt then, too many things all at once, scared, and in awe of you, and desperate to stop you, and...and I don't think I was one hundred percent aware of how much you meant to me until after I kissed you, but that was part of it, that was in there too."  

I'm racking my brains, trying to remember exactly when I saw the tears in his eyes. So much of that night is a blur to me now, especially the part in the forest when I was crazy with grief and despair.

“And right now it's just the same, only it's a whole different set of emotions, I'm upset because I feel like you’re both treating me like a five year old, and I'm angry that Penny enchanted those things without even asking if that's what I wanted, and I miss being around lots of people using magic, I’m worried there won’t be enough of it in my life anymore, but I also can't believe how lucky I am that I'm here...with both of you. I love you, so much...and I love Penny, and I never thought we'd have our flat together, and I never thought you and I would both be alive, and here it is, and here we are, and..."

Simon snorts a wet soggy sort of snort, I hand my cup off to Penny so I can give my wand a flick. A tissue comes flying across the room and into Simon's free hand.  

"See? That! I love that! And obviously, I can't do it myself now, but...I never could. Do either of you remember me using magic for simple things like that?"

Penny snorts despite herself and says "Well, there was the fairy cake icing incident of fourth year."

"And the time you tried to use magic to make yourself more shampoo,” I add with a laugh. (I think it's safe to laugh now.)

He looks momentarily stunned, but gathers himself quickly. How long will it take for him to stop being shocked every time he realizes I noticed, and remembered, every single thing he ever did at Watford?

"Right. So that's my point. I _love_ that stuff. That's what I miss most about magic, the little things, and I wasn't able to do that kind of thing myself even when I was full of magic, but I never felt all that bad about it, I just loved being around magic all the time. Don't do magic behind my back. I feel like you’re trying to hide it from me."

"I'm sorry Simon," Penelope says, and she really does look contrite. "I should have been more upfront about it."

I don't say anything, but I hold Simon a little tighter. I'm thinking about that night in the woods again. That was the lowest of all low points in my life and so much happened all at once afterwards that it hasn't been too terribly hard to push it out of my mind.

Simon barrels right on, as though Penelope hasn't said anything. "I don't need Normal occupational therapy. I'm a better Normal than either of you will ever be. This is how I grew up, what I need is magic, _more_ magic, not less, and it's fine if it comes from you two and not me."

Finally it clicks, I remember when I saw the tears in Simon's eyes that night.

“ _I’m a vampire, Snow! Are you happy?_ ”  “You’re not,” he said, and suddenly he was crying. It was so unexpected that it made an impression even with everything else that was happening. That must have been the moment he realized he couldn't let me go. I shiver involuntarily and lean into him with my eyes closed.

Simon gives me an extra squeeze with the arm that's around me and rests his forehead on my cheek for a moment, and then he's off, talking about his magic again. I'm glad he's getting it off his chest, but he's started gesticulating as he talks, which isn't very comfortable for me, pressed up against his side like I am. I let go and resume my seat on the couch, retrieving my beverage from Penny.

 

SIMON

It's a relief to be talking about this. People haven't exactly been tiptoeing around the issue of my magic, but I can tell that no one's going to bring it up for me.

“The little things, the everyday spells, those aren't things I ever trusted myself to do anyway," I repeat. "I'm happier like this." 

"Really Simon?" Penelope asks. "Happier without your magic?"

I do miss my power, the feeling of invincibility, the knowledge that I could protect the people I care about, but I miss none of the lack of control, the fear, or the worry that came with it.

"Yes. Really. So more magic, not less, yeah?"

"That can be arranged," Baz says. He's been looking pretty sombre for the past few minutes, but now his expression slides into a wicked grin. He has his wand pointing straight at me before I can think better of what I've just said.

"Baz!" Penny yells.

"Relax Bunce." Did he just _wink_ at her?

" **Out of my dreams and into my arms** ,” he says. I stumble and fall forward, landing heavily in his lap. Penny, who was standing near me, stumbles too, but manages to right herself before anything too embarrassing can happen.

All three of us are laughing. I'm home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My feelings about the end of Carry On were the reason I started writing fanfic in the first place. If you also felt unsettled about the ending, I hope this helped. If there were any other things that felt unresolved to you in that last chapter, let me know! Maybe I can work them in.


End file.
